Book Blurb Friday #60

        Yes, it's almost Friday. That means another Book Blurb Friday offering from Lisa Ricard Claro. 

        The idea is write a book blurb--150 words or less--that is enticing enough to prompt hordes of people to engage in a purchasing frenzy.

        The photo was supposedly snapped by Lisa's daughter. But since Lisa is only 31, that's impossible. Actually, Christina is a rent-a-kid, but Lisa keeps dragging her out, desperately trying to keep the ruse alive. That's okay; we'll let her slide this week.

         The photo is gorgeous (unlike that lame one last week). It's so breathtaking, it calls for something ethereal  soaring --well, what it should get is something that's not juvenile. But that's what came to me this evening.

To the Moon, Mom

        by Sioux Roslawski

Tubby Toblerone gazed  at the moon, every night. And every night it was out of his reach.

He dreamed of going there some day, sure. But what were the chances? Tubby spent his time after school eating Vienna sausages, and Taco Bell bean burritos. And reading science books…

Would he ever don an astronaut’s suit and fly to the moon? Would he ever travel in a rocket ship? Would Tubby’s dream ever come true?

Probably not, but what he lacked in persistence, he made up for in gas. Huge clouds of stinky farts. The foggy fume followed him every moment of every day.

One day, he had a flash of brilliance. Or was it just that third can of sausages talking back? Tubby was going to the moon. And setting his farts on fire was going to be just the propulsion he needed…

(147 words)

Is That Underwear Or Is It Shorts?

        Lynn, a fellow WWWP, and I are plotting. We are going to put a stop--somehow--to Beth's beauty and talent (okay, that's just me), to Linda's habit of being a publication pig (okay, that's only me as well), and to Tammy's skillful sphincter. (She claims her writing is crap, but when it comes out of her butt, it's mind-blowing.)
        Actually I'm the only one who's getting snipy. Lynn is far too nice to get snarky at all.
        But really, we do talk a lot about confidence and and persistence. So when I saw this video (with Ray Bradbury as the "star) allowing me to get a little into a character's head, I jumped on it.
         And although I love his writing, the sight of him in a tie and shorts (or are they boxers?)  is a little unsettling.
         My question for you: How do you keep persistent at writing?

Hungry for More Hunger

         Yesterday afternoon I began reading the book The Hunger Games. Yes, I know. I am the last human being left on the planet who has not read the book and no, I haven't seen the movie yet either.

         To say it is a page-turner is a gross understatement.

photo by Pranzie
(Okay, you should know better than to ask, "Is that you, Sioux?"  Look at her thighs...thin and firm-looking. Decidedly not jiggly. Check out those arms. If you pull the skin up, the skin will pop right back into place, instead of remaining up for a moment in "suspended animation."  And those boobs. They are in her chestal region, NOT hovering around her knees. So no, it's not Sioux, silly.)

         As a writer, I am in awe of the story conception. It's so unique, my mouth gapes open at just how imaginative Suzanne Collins is.

         I'm almost finished with it. And although I am usually sad when a book I enjoy is over, in this case, I'm not.

         Because the 2nd and 3rd books are waiting in the wings for me...

Book Blurb #59: Forever a Child

      Lisa Ricard Claro, a generous blogger and a talented writer, hosts Book Blurb Friday every week. It has been going strong for over a year now. The photo she posts--along with the 150 word limit--inspires a writer's imagination as well as hones the ability to be simultaneously succinct and enticing. To find out about this week's offering, check out Lisa's meme.

     It's been a long time  since I've made time to write a blurb (even though I thoroughly enjoy it every time I do it) but I got sucked in this week since Lisa was nice enough to use one of my photos. However, when I saw the picture for next week, I got really humbled. (She claims it was shot by her daughter, but since Lisa is not old enough to have college-aged kids, I suspect it was taken by the "hired children" she trots out occasionally. It is gorgeous!)

      The challenge is easy. 150 words or less. Take the blurb in whatever direction you want. Leave a comment on the host's blurb, link yours  to Mr. Linky (it's easy, since even I can do it), which means you get to enjoy other bloggers' blurbs.

     Below is my blurb. It is 130 words.

Forever a Child

“Riley was here…” It was chalked across concrete walls, etched into the muddy banks of rivers, and engraved onto the hearts of all who knew her.

Although her IQ was lacking, her ability to fully embrace life was not; Riley knew exactly what was important and what could be bypassed. Her childlike enthusiasm bubbled over—everyone who knew her was enriched by her effervescence.

Nutella (on a spoon) for breakfast…dancing barefoot in summer puddles…taking a nap with a dog on a Saturday afternoon: these are some of the ways Riley squeezed joy out of every single day.

Travel to the places Riley visited before her life was cut short. Meet her followers whose lives she touched. And be prepared: your life will never be the same…because Riley was once there…

Armed with Ammo

       Last night I was dry as a bone. I was experiencing a creative drought. Not a drop of inspiration, and no clouds in sight.

        However, I did find a possible market to submit to. They're looking for humorous pieces, but since I'm unfamiliar with their magazine, I'm going to check them out at the book store this evening.

       Lately I've been writing more serious pieces (for Chicken Soup) and when I share them at our WWWP critique get-togethers (Wild Women Wielding Pens), I get petrified. All four are completely silent. Linda makes odd faces as she scrawls paragraphs of helpful suggestions on my draft. Beth is (in her head) choosing the next rollickingly-funny tale she can tell, as she is simultaneously offering some alternatives to my dead-in-the-ditch parts. Lynn is trying to discover a kind way to note "This ending sucks," and Tammy is frantically alternating between making GB corrections (she is our resident Grammar B and is brilliant at it) and making me feel validated.

photo by vinc-

       Sharing funny pieces is easier on my nerves. At times (hopefully) they laugh or smile. There is some sort of reaction as they read my piece. It's not so silent that I can hear my mustache hair growing...At least it's not supposed to be that quiet.

       I am keeping my fingers crossed that 1) they take the kind of stuff I dish out and 2) an idea hits me like a lightning bolt.

       Critique night is less than a week away, and I need a piece of fudge writing...

         

What Comes Out of YOUR Butt?

photo by Lemon Lauren

       One of the writers in my critique group--She Who Will Not Be Named (SWWNBN)-- has done the same thing for several meetings in a row. When it comes her turn to share, she hems and haws, saying she really doesn't have much. What she has brought are "old" pieces, stories and essays that have sat by the wayside, wasting away. And as the other four of us read her piece, our mouths gape open. Our eyes spin around in our heads. Our brains whir in wonderment. Where did she get this awesome idea? How did she craft such a poignant piece that's simple and mind-blowing at the same time? How can we take her down a notch? (Okay, that last one probably only ran through my mind.)

       And her perception is her reality. She honestly thinks--each time--that her pieces suck. (That's my term. SWWNBN's far too much of a lady to say something so crass. I myself am not disabled in that way.)

       And each time, Lynn and I roll our eyes and then give this writer the stink eye. We started making jokes that she was pulling Pulitizer-prize winning stuff out of her butt.

       It came to a climax at our last critique session. After reading her piece, we each drew a set of buttocks at the end of her story. Some of us drew two butts--one like our own, with the normal "waste" coming out and then SWWNBN's rear end, with gold nuggets of words coming out. (I even think I saw one of the butts sporting sprouts of hair. Disgusting!)

       Of course, she is going to keep those drafts forever; someday, those doodled posteriors will bring some big bucks, when we all become internationally-known writers. ('Cause we sure ain't going to get known as illustrators. The drawings are proof of that.)

        It's crucial to have a sense of humor (in my opinion) when you're a member of an effective critique group. It's also important that all the writers feel safe. Tammy (oops, I just named her), with the multi-skilled sphincter, did not feel threatened at all by the good-natured ribbing we liberally dished out. 

        As a writer...create a safe community for your writing to flourish. Dish it out. And take it. Serve it up and suffer through it with the love and respect that it's generously peppered with.

        Because, of course...you're a writer.